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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193030">linger on your pale blue eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/superoverdramatic/pseuds/superoverdramatic'>superoverdramatic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>New Amsterdam (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, I have way too much time on my hands, Pregnancy, abuse and overuse of italics, can they get some backstory on the show now it's upsetting me and my homegirls, how do i always end up posting at like five am why do i hate sleeping, max being helen's support for once? unrealistic, vulnerable helen is my favourite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:27:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/superoverdramatic/pseuds/superoverdramatic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Helen’s hand is tight in his as their obstetrician goes over her test results, and he glances over at her expecting her to look as ecstatic as he feels. Instead, she’s tense and silent, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Helen is pregnant. Max expected her to be happier about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Max Goodwin/Helen Sharpe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Luna.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>why can't i stop writing fanfic? i'm so annoying lmao<br/>each chapter corresponds to a month of helen's pregnancy and will be titled after a suggested baby name<br/>i'm not american, so every location that's mentioned is based off a cursory google search, hopefully it all still tracks</p><p>title from 'pale blue eyes' by the velvet underground, it is suuuch a sharpwin song</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They find out that Helen is pregnant during their second round of IVF. Max laughs out loud, shrill and a little hysterical, and he can’t believe that after all the failed attempts, all the <em>heartbreak</em>, they are finally going to have a baby.</p><p>Helen’s hand is tight in his as their obstetrician goes over her test results, and he glances over at her expecting her to look as ecstatic as he feels. Instead, she’s tense and silent, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Max thinks that maybe she’s just in shock, and he uses the pad of his thumb to rub gentle, reassuring circles into her skin.</p><p>Except that she stays that way as they leave the clinic, and as they get a cab back to their place in Murray Hill and relieve Luna’s babysitter, the seventeen-year-old from two doors down who loves their daughter and watches her on the cheap. Helen is weird and awkward and <em>nervous</em> as she counts out bills to pay Amy. The teenager departs quickly, smiling uncomfortably, and Max doesn’t blame her.</p><p>He reaches out to get Helen’s attention, fingers barely skimming her wrist before Luna comes barrelling into the room. The two braids that Helen had tied her hair into that morning are a tousled mess, flyaways escaping from the once neat plaits.</p><p>“<em>Hi mommy</em>,” she says, high-pitched and sweet, and then she’s turning to Max and flinging herself into his arms. “<em>Hi daddy</em>.”</p><p>Max squats low and presses a kiss to Luna’s temple. She talks fast and loud about the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets she had for lunch and the game of hide-and-seek she played with Amy, and the movie she watched with an actress that she swears looked just like Helen, <em>isn’t that cool mommy? </em>Max interjects with a soft reminder for her to breathe.</p><p>Helen mumbles something about making dinner behind them, and ducks from the room before he can even get his mouth open. Luna squirms from the circle of his arms, sliding her little hand into his and dragging him up the stairs to her bedroom with a surprising amount of force.</p><p>Max spends a little time hanging out with her, knowing that she gets clingy like this when she’s left home alone for too long. Eventually, though, he slips from the room and ventures back downstairs and into the kitchen in search of his wife.</p><p>Helen is stiff as she slices vegetables for a stir fry, jumping almost a foot in the air when Max comes up behind her and traces a hand down her spine.</p><p>“Are you okay?” he asks, concern palpable in his voice.</p><p>Her head bobs in a series of jerky movements, again and again like once isn’t enough. She moves to slip past him, maybe to make her escape, maybe to try and reach for something, but she ends up knocking the entire chopping board to the floor, shattering the glass and sending diced bell peppers and red onion and bits of carrot and broccoli spilling across the laminate floor.</p><p>“<em>Shit</em>,” Helen hisses, bending to get at the mess, but Max is already there. He goes for the knife first, placing it flat on the counter, and then reaches for her hands to gently take the chunks of glass that she’s picking up.</p><p>“I’ve got it,” he says, and she pulls back like she’s been burned, nodding and climbing awkwardly to her feet.</p><p>“I’ll go and check on Luna,” she says, and is gone again before he can respond.</p><p>Max disposes of the shattered chopping board and discarded food first, sweeping up the smaller pieces and dumping the waste into the trash.</p><p>He finds Helen hovering just outside the door when he’s done, expression conflicted as she bites at her lip some more, and she grasps his hands when he appears, unfurling his hands to check that he isn’t cut. “I’m so sorry,” she blurts, hands still in his. “I don’t know what—”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Max says, “I’m fine. Are you?”</p><p>Her eyes stay on their hands where the two of them are connected. “Yeah,” she says, short and unconvincing. “Just thinking.”</p><p>Her thumbs idly trace the lines of his palms, and then come up to tuck some hair behind her ear. Max watches her shoulders rise with the force of the deep breath that she inhales, and then she’s looking back up at him.</p><p>“Do you want to tell people?”</p><p>Not exactly what he was expecting, but at least she’s talking to him. “I…I guess?” He leans against the wall, folding his arms. “It’s up to you though. If you want to wait, we can.”</p><p>Helen chews on her bottom lip, considering for a minute, and then makes a face. “I’d like to tell Luna and our parents. Maybe,” she shrugs, “maybe everyone else can wait though.”</p><p>Max nods. “That sounds good,” he says, brushing a long braid over her shoulder with tentative fingers. “We could probably tell Luna now.”</p><p>“Okay,” Helen nods, and she sounds breathless and scared and not at all okay. She pulls back, and that space from earlier is back again. “I’m just going to have a shower first.”</p><p>Max nods, says something about getting takeout, and then she’s slipping away from him again. Her steps are steady, because Helen Goodwin-Sharpe does not run away, but her expression is the most rattled he’s ever seen her, and he hates that he can’t read her like this.</p><p>He orders from the place they love in Koreatown, and their food arrives while Helen is still upstairs. She emerges with Luna as he goes to collect the delivery from the guy at the door, holding their daughter’s hand in her own. Helen is getting the five-year-old situated on the couch when he gets back, and Max takes that to mean they’ll be eating in the living room.</p><p>He takes a seat on the floor by Luna’s legs while Helen sits beside her, and he passes over plastic cutlery and takeout bowls for the two of them. Max swallows hard around a mouthful of steamed broccoli, waiting while Helen gets Luna’s meal balanced in her lap and starts prodding at her own box of noodles before he speaks.</p><p>“Lu,” Max starts gently, and she looks up with curious blue eyes and a mouthful of dumpling at the sound of her name. “I want to tell you a secret,” he says, and Luna’s eyes light up.</p><p>“A secret?” she asks, mouth still full, and Max doesn’t even have the wherewithal to chastise her.</p><p>“Yeah, but that means that you can’t tell <em>anyone</em>, okay?”</p><p>Luna nods emphatically, blonde wisps of hair flying about her head. Helen is looking over at him, and Max doesn’t know why but he’s suddenly full of nerves.</p><p>“Well,” he says, eyes darting over to meet hers for a brief second, “mommy has a baby in her stomach.”</p><p>There’s a beat of silence. The line of Helen’s shoulders is tense, and she has stopped even pretending to pick at her food.</p><p>“In here?” Luna asks, small hand coming to rest on the flat of Helen’s stomach. “Is it a boy baby or a girl baby?”</p><p>“Well, mommy and I don’t know that yet. We have to wait until the baby is bigger to find out,” Max says, placing his hand over their daughter’s, and he feels Helen’s shaky inhale. When he looks up, she has her eyes firmly on Luna. The little girl is quiet for a long moment, contemplative as she regards each of her parents, and then she smiles wide enough to flash most of her teeth.</p><p>“I want a girl baby,” Luna says, and then flings her arms wide and almost sends her food flying, “and her name can be <em>Luna</em>, like me.”</p><p>Max is pleasantly surprised when Helen barks out a laugh, and she looks just as shocked at the noise as he is.</p><p>“The baby can’t have the same name as you,” he replies, eyes still on his wife who, for the first time since they got the news, doesn’t look like she is fighting the immediate urge to throw up. Max takes that as a win.</p><p>“Why not?” Luna whines, bottom lip coming out in a pout, and Helen finally steps in.</p><p>“Lu, don’t you want your name all to yourself? Otherwise how will we know who’s who?”</p><p>Luna looks up at her, that famous Goodwin determination burning behind her eyes like she’s really about to push this absurd issue.</p><p>“<em>Okay</em>,” she finally sighs, deep and heavy like the weight of the world rests on her shoulders, and then shoves a whole dumpling in her mouth. Helen exclaims, reaching out to stop her and Max can’t help but feel a thrill down his spine at the thought of getting to do this all again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fleur.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>it's missing sharpwin hours</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Max catches Helen on her way out of the ladies’ bathroom, and there’s a familiar pallor to her skin as she wipes delicately at her mouth. She sways in the open doorway, exhales a rough breath and takes off down the hallway before Max can get to her.</p><p>“<em>Helen</em>,” he calls, jogging to try and catch up to her. Helen has gotten very used to Max chasing her down the halls of the hospital. So used to it, in fact, that she no longer bothers to slow down, very much expecting him to just catch up to her.</p><p>Which he always does.</p><p>Her heels tap a beat against the vinyl floors as she strides ahead, and he makes a mental note to remind her to start wearing flats.</p><p>Max curls a hand around her forearm, halting both their movements and tugging her out of the paths of people milling through the hospital.</p><p>“Helen,” he says breathlessly, and slides his hand down her sleeve to stroke the barely-there swell of her bump, “you okay?”</p><p>She blinks up at him, eyebrows raised and head inclined as if in question. If not for the faint sheen of sweat on her forehead, Max might actually believe that she has no clue what he means.</p><p>“Maybe you should sit,” he says, looking over her anxiously, and he considers going to hunt down a chair to make her do just that.</p><p>Helen shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she waves the tablet that she’s holding in her right hand at him. “I’m late for a consult.”</p><p>“Can’t you just—”</p><p>She’s already sliding past him though, heels clicking a beat as she continues down the hall. “Time and tide wait for no man, Max,” she calls over her shoulder.</p><p>He can’t fight the small smile playing on the corners of his lips as she moves smoothly from his grip, even while knowing as well as he does that she’s downplaying her morning sickness to try an assuage his concerns. He should push it, should urge her to lean on him, but then she's flashing <em>that smile</em>, the one reserved just for him where she bites down on her bottom lip and her eyes light up, and his mind goes blank.</p><p>It’s like there’s a tether connecting the two of them, and he cannot help but give chase.</p><p>“Okay, well I’ve been thinking,” he starts, long strides allowing him to overtake Helen with ease, so he can walk backwards and see her face as they go.</p><p>“Novel,” Helen snarks, eyes fixed on the tablet screen, and Max fakes wounded.</p><p>“I’m going to let you have that one because I’m in a good mood.”</p><p>Helen finally looks up at him, sarcastic laugh bubbling off her lips. “How magnanimous of you.”</p><p>She turns left at the end of the hall, leaving Max to scramble to catch up to her again. This corridor is fuller, and he struggles to keep up with her quick footsteps, bumping into people while she glides effortlessly through. He finally reaches her at the bank of elevators, marvelling at how fast she can move in those heels.</p><p>Max regards Helen as he catches his breath, the healthy flush that’s coming back to her cheeks, the skirt that clings to the gentle curve of her belly, the tiny smirk dancing on her lips.</p><p>“You did that on purpose, right?”</p><p>She laughs and Max can’t help but lean in to steal a kiss, hands straying to her stomach as if drawn by a magnet. She indulges him for a long moment, and then pulls back, face rosy as she glances up and down the hall to see if anyone noticed.</p><p>“Behave.”</p><p>Max grins. “You first.” He smiles goofily at her for long enough that she has to nudge him to make him stop.</p><p>“So, you’ve been thinking?”</p><p>“Right,” he says, clapping his hands together and leaning against the wall as Helen presses the button to call the elevator from the fifteenth floor. “What do you think of Fleur?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>Max rolls his eyes. “The name. Fleur Goodwin. I like it. Very British.”</p><p>Helen’s back goes rigid. She looks away from him, eyes straying to the numbers above the elevator counting down as it descends a level. She hums quietly, a noise that could be assenting, but keeps her gaze averted.</p><p>“Is that a <em>yes, I like it</em>, or a <em>shut up, Max, that name is terrible</em>?”</p><p>Helen is still staring at the elevator as if trying to conjure it through sheer force of will. <em>13. 12. 11.</em></p><p>“Because I have a whole list,” he continues, digging in the pocket of his scrubs for the little square of paper that he’s been scribbling prospective baby names on.</p><p>
  <em>10. 9.</em>
</p><p>“I don’t have many boy names—” he mutters, hand going to his front pocket. <em>Where the hell is that list?</em></p><p>
  <em>8. 7. 6.</em>
</p><p>“—but we still have time to come up with some good ones. I think Fleur should go on the maybe pile—”</p><p>
  <em>5. 4. Ding.</em>
</p><p>The elevator doors slide open, and Helen leans over to press a hurried kiss to his lips. His can’t help but reach out to cradle her stomach, just managing to skim his fingers across her tiny bump before she’s stepping onto the lift and flashing him an apologetic smile.</p><p>“Can we talk about this later?” She reaches over to press a button and the doors start to slide shut between them. “I promise, I’m all yours at lunch.”</p><p>He gets a text later saying she’s sorry, something came up, she’ll see him in the evening. Max can’t even say he’s surprised.</p><p>He tells himself that these concerns that he's feeling are all in his head, that she isn’t doing that thing she does where she tries to bear the weight of the world on her own because she thinks he’s too vulnerable to shoulder it with her, that they are so much <em>more</em> than those two people who used to hide things from one another.</p><p>He replies with a quick <em>sounds good</em>, ignoring the unsettling feeling that something in his marriage is seriously wrong.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Tornado.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so it's been a while. obviously, the world has kind of gone to shit recently, and as a black woman writing fic was lowkey the last thing on my mind. still, to anyone still reading this i'm glad you're sticking with me and i'll try to keep on top of posting<br/>i genuinely do not know if this is bad or not, it's like three am and i can no longer read</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Helen’s first trimester screening is scheduled for the week before Thanksgiving. She and Max arrive at the clinic ridiculously early—for all his nagging about holiday time traffic, the roads were surprisingly clear. Helen does little more than quirk an eyebrow in his direction when they end up waiting for thirty-five minutes, a clear <em>I-told-you-so</em>.</p><p>It’s in the moment after Helen gets herself situated on the examination table, laying on her back with her shirt rucked up to beneath her breasts and cheap paper draped over her legs, that it hits Max that she is pregnant.</p><p>Like. <em>Pregnant.</em></p><p>Where before, she had just put on a little weight and the plane of her stomach had just barely begun to curve, there is now a small definitive bump. It isn’t big enough to be seen through her clothes yet, but it’s there. He can’t stop staring.</p><p>The appointment is pretty straightforward, and Max blows out a rough breath when the technician points to the spot where their baby is, tapping a few keys to capture the grainy image. He gapes at the screen and the dark smudge that is their baby, and then a hand slides into his and Helen is looking up at him with a tremulous smile and he <em>loveslovesloves</em> her.</p><p>Their obstetrician handles the rest of their appointment, talking them through the do’s and don’ts and dates, and Helen gradually gets quieter and quieter. By the time they leave, she has fallen silent and her face is angled away from him as they exit the building. Max frets.</p><p>He reaches for her arm before she can raise it to flag a cab. “You okay?”</p><p>Helen nods, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw, and regards him for a moment. “I’m good,” she replies, and then goes up on her toes and tilts her head to press her lips to his.</p><p>“Love you,” Max mumbles into her mouth after a lingering kiss, and she pulls back with a soft, painfully fake smile. She turns away to hail them a taxi.</p><p>They have a dinner date scheduled with his parents after. Max directs the driver to their address in Brooklyn, letting Helen curl herself into his side and ignoring the fare as it steadily ticks up.</p><p>He feels irrationally nervous as they step out of the cab and approach his parents’ house. The door swings open before they have a chance to knock and his mom smiles wide, opening her arms first to him and then Helen.</p><p>“How are you feeling?” she asks when she pulls back, smoothing a hand across his wife’s cheek. “You look healthy.”</p><p>Helen’s smile is close-lipped, and it takes her a beat to respond. “Thank you, Frances, I'm great. It’s good to see you.”</p><p>His mom looks between the two of them. “Luna?”</p><p>“She’s with Georgia’s parents this weekend,” Max says, knowing that they’ve had this discussion already.</p><p>“Let the kids come inside, Fran,” his father grunts, clapping a hand on Max’s shoulder and rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Max already told you she wasn’t coming at least three times.”</p><p>“An old woman is allowed to forget things, Peter.”</p><p>Max’s dad smiles, blue eyes dancing in that very specific Goodwin way. “Never met an old woman as fine, though.”</p><p>Max groans. Helen actually laughs. His parents are something else.</p><p>“Well, I hope you brought your appetites,” Frances says, pivoting the conversation with a clap of her hands. “I made pasta.”</p><p>Max slips his hand into Helen’s as they follow his mom into the house, bringing it up to press a reassuring kiss to her skin. Her shoulders relax, and the smile she aims at him is a little less brittle than before.</p><p>The house is tidy and remains completely unchanged, exactly the same as Max remembers from his childhood, including the pale floral paper on the walls, dark wood panelling and well-cared for leather furniture.</p><p>Max sets the table while his mom finishes up in the kitchen and does her best to fend his father away from the food. He situates Helen in a chair and refuses to let her help. He plates her food for her and pours her a glass of water. Helen has to physically stop him from actually feeding her.</p><p>“I’ve got it, Max,” she says, pushing his arm away and wrestling her fork from him.</p><p>“So, how was the appointment?” Frances asks when they’ve all started eating.</p><p>“Max swallows and nods, glancing over to Helen briefly. “Good.” His stomach sinks when he notices how tight her grip on her fork has become. “Everything looks good.”</p><p>Frances looks ready to burst, clutching her hands against her chest in that overdramatic way that she has perfected. “Oh, I’m so excited. Have you started thinking about names?”</p><p>“Mom,” Max scolds, gaze darting quickly to Helen again. She places her fork down carefully against the plate. His parents don’t seem to notice though.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” his mom says defensively, and then his dad chimes in.</p><p>“I wouldn’t let Max be responsible for the baby’s name,” he chortles, aiming his fork at Max across the table. “He called his goldfish <em>Tornado</em> when he was younger, what do you think he’d do to that poor kid?”</p><p>The table erupts, with both his parents falling into hysterics and Max doing his best to explain that he was <em>eight</em>. He looks over at Helen. She isn’t laughing.</p><p>Max clears their plates when the meal is done, worried to see Helen’s is still half-full. They have his mom’s apple pie for dessert, and when everyone has made it through a couple of slices, Frances wraps up what remains and hands it to Helen to take home. The older woman kisses Helen on the cheek before she steps out of the front door after Max.</p><p>“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes damp as she clutches at Helen’s wrists, “for making him happy. For bringing him back to us.”</p><p>Helen inhales sharply, and her hands tremble around the pie dish. They don’t often talk about, or even allude to, those dark days after Georgia’s death when Max pulled away from everyone. His healing was long and arduous, and his relationship with his parents suffered for a long time because of it.</p><p>Helen flounders for words for a moment, and then nods, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder at Max. “We saved each other.”</p><p>Frances half-sobs and pulls Helen in again, pressing another firm kiss to her temple. Max smiles confusedly as Helen approaches, squinting at her misty eyes. “Everything okay?”</p><p>Helen nods. They get a taxi back home and she kicks off her heels almost as soon as she crosses the threshold, making for the kitchen with barely-there footsteps. Max sighs, drops his keys by the door and slides his feet out of his own shoes, stacking them and Helen’s discarded own on the rack.</p><p>He follows the sound of drawers sliding open and cutlery rattling. Helen is standing barefoot at the counter, pie unwrapped and digging in with a fork. She looks up when he enters, rolling her eyes at his grin.</p><p>“Don’t ask for any. It’s mine.”</p><p>Max holds his hands up in a show of innocence. He can’t restrain the goofy smile though, ecstatic to see her eating. He wanders over to her side of the island to wrap his arms around her waist, stroking a thumb lightly over her belly, over <em>their</em> <em>baby</em>, and perching his chin on her shoulder. Helen melts into him and the two of them stand in silence for a long minute and breathe in sync.</p><p>“What’s going on, Helen?” he murmurs, hoping that he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. It’s about more than just today though. Helen has been evasive and <em>squirrely</em> the past few months about anything pertaining to the baby, and it’s starting to scare him.</p><p>He hears her swallow, and then she drops her fork and turns in his arms. “I’m just…a bit overwhelmed right now”, she says with a heavy sigh. “But I’m okay.”</p><p>“Promise?” Max asks, voice barely above a whisper.</p><p>Helen smiles and nods. “I promise.”</p><p>“Pinky swear,” he urges, not quite convinced, and holds up his little finger. She huffs out a laugh and hooks hers around it.</p><p>Max exhales and tugs her into his chest, tucking his face into her shoulder and pressing his nose into the exposed line of her clavicle. He so badly wants to believe that this is it, the breakthrough that he’s been hoping for for the past three months.</p><p>He steadfastly disregards the niggling feeling that this was just a little too easy. He is exhausted and sated in Helen’s arms and he wants so badly to just believe his wife, even if just for this moment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>there's like a eighty percent chance i'll finish this, i'm so bad at completing multi-chapter fics but i have quite a bit written and not a lot else to do, so pray for me</p></blockquote></div></div>
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